Melting Europa
by The Water Daemon
Summary: Draco is sent to the USA by his parents. But what for? And why is this trip among Muggles?


Disclaimer: Harry Potter and everything in this fic associated with it does not belong to me, but someone else who is no doubt infinitely richer than me and could kick my ass in court. ;-;  
  
Author's Note: Please don't shoot me. ^_^ I've only read each Harry Potter book once and I've forgotten little details that fanatics will probably peck me to pieces about. @_@ Just try and enjoy this, okay? (Also, I'm not an astronomer, so don't kill me over details of moons and such. _) Feel free to tell me if I did something wrong in your review. (`Cause I just know you're gonna reply to it. ;D)  
  
  
  
  
  
"You've never been on a plane before?"  
  
The question went unanswered, hanging in the air and making the atmosphere multiply in awkwardness. The boy closest to the window was the one who had been presented with the question, and didn't take the liberty to answer it. His almost Californian-blonde hair was slicked back neatly with a mixture of gel and water, piercing gray eyes on a youthful face lacking in wrinkles staring out the window with an intensity that was almost immortal. Beneath his face, so pure yet tainted with an unseen darkness, was positioned a forest green trench coat, so deep in the color it was dyed it nearly came off as black. The trimming of the coat was a dull silver, trailing down to the hemming at the bottom of the coat, which ended at his ankles. Protruding from the coat were two shiny new boots, looking as if they were made from a fine quality material. Hands the color of an alabaster gripped fiercely at the edges of the jacket, keeping it shut.  
  
Everything about him, this person who sat next to him, almost like destiny, seemed foreign, strange. A certain aura emitted from him, making the air have a certain bite to it when it came within a radius of approximately two feet of him, exactly where the other boy was sitting. The one who had proposed the inquiry was seemingly the exact opposite of him, though it was not only seeming. The truth, though neither of them were aware of it, except for perhaps the male donning the verdant jacket, was that they were practically day and night in comparison.  
  
The one who had been assigned a seat parallel to the bitter male had a mess of brownish-black hair on his face, looking as if it would benefit from a brush sweeping through it. This mat that resembled a muskrat perched upon his head came down to about his chin where it cut off abruptly, breaking the usual messiness of it. The oily-brown shag framed a heart- shaped face, skin a shade darker than pale, and a nose of small proportions was set within this charming face, usually all smiles. Dark chocolate eyes that were slightly slanted from Asian descent and a mouth that was nearly destined for stretching into pleased expressions. He was dressed in casual jeans with the occasional stain on them and a off-white t-shirt that read "I Visited the Grand Canyon and All I Got Was This Crappy T-Shirt." This was crowned with an ebony jacket, gray stripes running from the shoulder to the wrist of the light, bordering-on-stylish windbreaker.  
  
Clearing his throat, he pitched another attempt at conversation. "Awfully nice in first class, isn't it?" Again, nothing but silence. The male, about sixteen years old, rubbed his chin thoughtfully to himself, fingers moving over some rough stubble that he had missed in shaving this morning. He was finally going home to his parents in the suburbs of Chicago after a well-deserved vacation in London. It wasn't as if he desired to get home-in fact, he had sort of liked Great Britain, sometimes enjoying to randomly pick up a conversation with someone he had spontaneously met at a coffee shop or such. Now, however, he seemed to be having difficulty using his natural charm to spark up a exchange with a person he would likely be next to for hours to come. "Not very talkative, are you?"  
  
"No," his tow-headed companion replied icily, shooting him a look that could kill. His voice was tinted with a British accent, giving it an unnecessary edge. Immediately, his eyes flashed back to the window, as if it disgusted him to even lay eyes on his brunette partner. "And stop your pathetic attempts at a conversation." He said something else to end his sentence with a stony ring, but it was muffled within the collar of his coat, shoulders pulled up to his ears. Pursing his lips, the brunette found himself even more determined to break this shell his companion had built solidly around him. Holding out his hand, he shoved it under the teen's nose.  
  
"Max Watson." The blonde male stared at Max's hand for a moment, and then gazed back up to him with an amused look on his face. There was still a touch of cruelty in it, as if he were mocking him while he lay on the floor, bleeding. The thought made Max shiver, but he was persistent, keeping his hand stable, waiting for it to be taken. After what seemed like eternity, Max almost able to hear the ticking of his watch on opposing wrist, even over the soft hum of other conversations around them, the pale male hastily took his hand and then released it, as if eager to be able to cease from touching him.  
  
"Draco Malfoy." Max recalled hearing the name Draco before, and realized that it had been from a constellation in the sky. During his trip to London, he had lived with his aunt and uncle, who didn't live in London, but close enough to it. The two didn't have children, and both were very thoughtful people, almost modern day philosophers. The discussions they held between each other were so advanced, frequently Max was forced to drop out of them and busy himself with something else. When it was nighttime, he would wander to their vast backyard where a telescope was set up and tilt it up towards the violet blanket of the sky, looking towards the bright pinpoints of light for an escape from the flurry of words the couple always seemed to be spewing. Occasionally, his uncle would come out and help him find certain constellations, or switch the lens (or maybe even bright out a bigger telescope) to look at the moons of Jupiter, mysterious and brilliantly white against the blackness of space.  
  
It was almost like this for his companion, Draco, an enigma of whiteness against the dark trench coat which he wore. Of course, the moons of Jupiter weren't really much unidentified anymore, but to a novice, they still seemed.somewhat magical. Dark, foreboding, yet at the same time.full of light and life, though Max was told that they were lifeless, except for perhaps volcanoes and the like. Yet they were still apparent, circling around the crimson gargantuan, each in their own separate orbit, branching and then zooming back. Draco was like the moons of Jupiter to him. But which of the sixteen?  
  
"Now, would you just shut up?" snapped Draco, distinctly different from the somewhat sarcastic hand-shaker he had been second before, though still so cold and remote. Again, he reverted to that self-centered person, huddled towards the window and staring out of it, not bothering to even give a sliver of attention to Max. Sighing, he stretched his arms over his head and then wove his fingers together, putting them behind his head. It was apparent what Draco was now.  
  
Europa, cold and frozen moon of Jupiter.  
  
  
  
"You. Max."  
  
Draco regarded Max with the same icy demeanor, not seeming to really give a damn for him, but needing specific directions. Max, opening the overhead compartment with a snap of the latch and catching his bag as it fell out into his arms, looked back to Draco, slinging the navy duffle bag over his shoulder. "So now you want to talk to me?"  
  
"No, I don't want to talk to trash such as yourself, but the problem is, I need to. I'm not familiar with the area around here, and I must locate 397 Arlington Road in Kensington." Max's lack of true interest in this rude, tempered teen suddenly increased tenfold in a sincere way. He had been in the aisle, and now, out of courtesy, moved back to hovering over his seat, eyes wide and unblinking. Draco found this somewhat disconcerting, the rapid switch of emotional air around the two. That face that was meant for smiling suddenly gave way to a show of teeth, sparkling white, almost as if they had been bleached by a professional. Truthfully, Max just kept them well-tended, as he knew that his parents and most people he knew loved his smile.  
  
"You have got to be kidding," chuckled Max. Upon seeing the brooding look on Draco's face, he promptly stifled his laughter into a hacking cough, balling his fist and putting it up to his mouth to avoid germs from spreading. Draco, positively glowering at the fact that anybody could even so much as giggle at something he suggested, dug into one of the pockets closest to the bottom of the jacket, pulling out a small slip of paper and unfolding it. Squinting slightly at the smeared ink on the crumpled paper, Draco reread it.  
  
"Yes, that's the correct address. Now what's so wrong with it?"  
  
"It's an error, or an utter, terribly played coincidence on God's part."  
  
"I don't believe in a god," said Draco sternly, his light blonde eyebrows pointing downwards in a frown. Max wondered if this teen had anything other in his expression department besides scowls and sarcastic looks. Max lifted his dark eyebrows halfway up his forehead and gave a shrug, letting his shoulders fall slowly.  
  
"Pity on your part," sighed Max, moving his fingers through his hair roughly, only succeeding in making it even more of a disgrace. "Anyway, about the address. That's my address. 397 Arlington Road in Kensington is where me and my family live." It didn't seem to be possible for Draco to get any paler, but somehow he managed it. All of the slight color that he possessed simply drained from his face, making him the shade of a piece of stark ivory paper. For one peculiar moment, Max was confident that Draco's knees would buckle beneath him and he would go sprawling out onto the chair- but instead, he composed himself, eyes darkening.  
  
"Well, I guess it's unavoidable. Let's get going. You can take me there."  
  
"You're awful assuming," replied Max. "Since you're staying with me for no apparent reason, I guess we could get a little friendlier?" Draco seemed to consider this for a matter of seconds.  
  
"No. Now lead the way." Max, supposing that some sort of fate had destined this meeting on the plane, obliged, wiggling out of the seats and into the aisle. The rest of the plane had emptied fairly quickly, and now only they remained. It was quiet between them, as Max knew that Draco would be reluctant, if at all, willing to keep up a conversation. Yet, despite the cold shoulder he had been given for the entire plane ride, even while the plane refueled, Max felt a certain affinity towards the teen. It was like he was a long lost link from the past, a piece that had been missing from.somewhere. Difficult to describe.  
  
"Would you consider moving faster, you oaf, I'm tripping over my feet here," called Draco from behind Max coldly. Max knew for a fact that Draco was far behind him, struggling to keep up, practically dragging his heavy baggage that he had brought with him on the plane. The teen was not of an impressive, athletic frame, and reminded Max of someone slightly sickly, perhaps with a blood disorder. Any sorrow that he might have felt for him, however, was totally diminished by such a wonderfully unpleasant personality. Still, there was that feeling.  
  
"Don't be stupid, you're not even keeping up," said Max, twisting his neck to see Draco, winking. Draco gave him a foul look.  
  
"I'll have you know I used to be a star player on a sports team."  
  
"Used to? You look like a deflated child's balloon," teased Max. Draco silently fumed, but did not speak. Max continued his pointless poking of fun, just wanting to hear someone, even his, voice. "Really, what did happen? You get sick or something? You look like you went through serious medication or something."  
  
"Illness? Yes. Medication, of your sorts? No," said Draco tiredly, still somehow adding into that biting quality to his speech, even though he was obviously getting tired. Max furrowed his brow, puzzled. 'Of your sorts?'  
  
"Then how-" Max's question was abruptly cut off somewhat offensively by Draco picking up his bag and slamming it down onto Max's foot with one great heave of his muscles, his body suddenly looking sleek and powerful, a built male from his past, but only the shadows, the skeleton of it all. For a moment, Max was utterly dwarfed in comparison by his strength, his total rule over everything around him. For a moment, a lump of fear collected in Max's throat, and the hairs on the back of his neck raised onto their ends. For a moment, he could not feel the pain in his foot of the baggage, but a stabbing pain throughout his whole body, pure agony, words he didn't know repeating through his head, foreign, Latin?.Crucio.crucio.CRUCIO!!!  
  
And then, Draco changed back, and the moment was gone, passed. Smarting resumed in his foot, and he jerked it back, gritting his teeth together, muscles tensing briefly and then relaxing. That single instant in time clung to Max's consciousness for just as long as it had happened, and then whisked itself away like a leaf in the breeze, tumbling and floating out of sight. "What was that for?" demanded Max, bending his knee and rubbing his toe. A smile of sorts stretched out across Draco's face.  
  
"Nothing, nothing," he said simply, his facial features somewhat light-hearted for once. "Continue, and don't wait for me. I don't enjoy being pitied."  
  
"Fine then. I wouldn't enjoy pitying you anyway." Bitterness, from Max. A rare thing, truthfully, and he was as surprised at himself as Draco was, though Draco seemed to be pleasantly surprised, whereas Max was shocked and a bit discouraged at himself. Turning around, baffled, Max continued to proceed to exit the plane, Draco following excruciatingly slowly behind. 


End file.
